


Russian milonga

by bibitta007



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lust, Smut, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibitta007/pseuds/bibitta007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The pure essence of Elizabeth Keen and Raymond Reddington's relationship..." One-shot, inspired by Red's speech from episode 2x11...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Russian milonga

**After the last episode I don’t know how or why but Red’s speech about the tango, the music, my Lizzington heart just inspired me so I sat down and started writing this oneshot and after I finished I decided not to delete it :D**

**If it wasn’t for Alysha (Jonesy1160) this wouldn’t have been written well, so thank you sooo much! ^^**

**I hope you’ll like it!**

**I don’t own anything!**

****

** Russian milonga **

_Watch closely, Lizzie._

His smooth voice like silk on her skin, crawling slowly, inch by inch. Her heart imitated the beat of the music, her eyes dark like the night, her blood ran like a bewildered torrent as desire filled her inside out. As much as she didn’t want to she knew, it would happen again.

 _At the outset they are opponents_.

The FBI agent and the Notorious Criminal.

Cop and Asset.

Water and fire.

Beauty and Beast

 _Each has something the other wants_.

He wanted the Fulcrum but she wanted _him._ She wanted his soul, his mind, his body.

She had been innocent and chaste like the fount of the mountains but his dirty world poisoned her. He sprinkled her with the flammable lust and she was on fire. She burned for him and she couldn’t even stop it.

_They size one another up, assessing risk, setting boundaries, challenging each other to breach them._

She was in his net and she didn’t have the slightest clue until she looked into his eyes. And what she saw there was scary yet thrilling. His gaze was pure and animalistic with raw, painfully raw wants.

She could have blamed the fine cognac she had drunk, she could have blamed her vulnerability that had fallen a victim to his charm, but if she could she would lie to herself. The fact was, she wanted him.

Wanted to taste him, to savor him. She wanted to _have_ him.

And she wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. She wanted to go down on her knees and see the pain in his eyes mixing with pleasure as she sucked the life out of him.

She wanted to be his possessive and demanding lover who was using him just as much as he was using her.

_A sensuous battle violence…_

And she did. She pushed the button of the third floor and he raised his eyebrow; it wasn’t her floor. It was his.

Her eyes bored into his, fucking his mind with her dirty thoughts, and for a brief moment she saw something in his eyes which bore a likeness to fear. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t.

It shouldn’t.

But she caught him just the same.

Now she was the hunter and he was her pray and she felt the power of a predator diluting her blood and she was light-headed and dizzy as the ruddy liquid was racing in her veins and God, it felt so, _so_ good.

She took a step closer as he distanced himself from her but he must have sensed the wall behind him as he stopped and didn’t dare to take his eyes off of hers until a small smirk appeared on her face and she licked it away from her lips. And then his heavy lids gave up, his wild eyes stared at her strawberry lips.

She clearly saw how his now parted lips barely resisted the urge of biting into this strawberry but he waited.

_And sex..._

He didn’t ask her to enter his suit and she didn’t wait for invitation.

In the dark room everything was motionless for a minute but then two shadows were moving toward each other at once and the dance began; sharp breaths, rough moves and her back hit the wall of the room as she reflexively sneaked one of her legs around his waist and he kneaded her thigh while his head was buried in the crook of her neck. He treated her skin there with no mercy and she dug her nails painfully into his back.

It was a dangerous dance and it felt like they were playing a twisted, deadly game as if their souls were a step away from falling down to the flames of Hell and their lives were…

 _…Balanced on the blade of a knife_.

He picked her up and threw to the center of the bed and before she could realize what was happening he kneeled between her now naked legs as he ripped her green blouse open and unclasped her bra.

She could have yelled at him for ruining her clothes but after she had treated his shirt with equal roughness she didn’t say a word, instead a moan escaper her mouth as she felt his mouth closing around her left nipple, suckling and biting it. She felt the rough skin on his back but tonight wasn’t made for vocal questions; tonight just their bodies would talk, ask demanding questions and answer with motions.

A moment later with a soft ‘smack’ he let her nipple slip out from his mouth and paid attention to the other as two questioning fingers found their way down on her body and soon discovered the hidden place that they had yearned to caress for a long time.

It was overwhelming. **He** was overwhelming.

Her now shaking fingers found the zip of his trouser and she closed her fingers around his freed thick length, stroking it with equal vehemence.

Their foreplay didn’t last longer than it needed and he pounded into her hard and fast, the way she needed to feel him right now.

_Nothing given that is not earned, nothing taken that is not given._

It wasn’t about expressing deep feelings they had toward each other, it wasn’t about making tender and sensuous love either.

But it was about to gratify their passion, to live out their anger in the most aggressive way.

_This is the pure essence of negotiation._

The pure essence of Elizabeth Keen and Raymond Reddington’s relationship.

_Not a poker game, but a milonga._

It wasn’t quite and it didn’t burn slow; once they had caught on fire it couldn’t be stopped and the beast couldn’t be tamed.

_A tango._

A weird game somewhere between a soft touch and hard slap, with passion and excitement as the dash of torment and rapture intoxicated their silent screams.

_A seduction._

His last word brought her back to reality; they were still in that damn bar, her baklava still untouched and his eyes away from hers as much as his heart.

**The end.**

**All reviews appreciated! ;)**


End file.
